


in the night where i live

by ravenkisa



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: F/M, Found Family, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Build, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 17:51:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8337148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenkisa/pseuds/ravenkisa
Summary: When the dust settles, all they really have left is each other. Well, and the cash and stolen goods they find locked away in the former queen of hell's coffers.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Seth/Kisa oneshot that somehow morphed into a fix-it found family fic. The first chapter is set right after S3E8, everything after that is AU after Amaru's defeat in the season finale. Seth and Kisa are the main romantic dynamic but pretty much every relationship will hopefully be explored at some point, with a particular focus on Kisa. Really hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Title is from the song "I Got" by Young the Giant.

Seth flexes his fingers on the steering wheel, digs the nails of his right hand into the thick leather. The night stretches black and unforgiving in front of him, this long stretch of backwater road devoid of any signs of life. Not even trees dot the landscape here, a grassy flatland that never seems to end.

He'd wanted to follow right after Freddie and Venganza once they left the prison, but Carlos claimed there was a group of culebras nearby that owed him a favor. Despite the (justifiable) distrust everyone feels for him, not even Seth argued against the fact that they desperately needed reinforcements. So here they are, on their way to a hole in the wall somewhere, praying Carlos isn’t leading them into a trap because it would really suck to die right before their scheduled death at the impending Amaru-pocalypse.

Richie stares out the window in the seat beside Seth, thinking about whatever it is Richie thinks about. His shoulders are tensed and lifted slightly, which is a sure sign that he’s anxious. Seth hopes he’s not reliving the shit that went down when he was possessed. But it's a futile wish, he knows that. Being a culebra has its perks when it comes to outer wounds, inner ones not so much. And his kid brother has always been far more affected by the latter.

In the backseat, there's Carlos, one wrist cuffed to a handhold at a rather awkward angle, which is really because Seth's a vindictive bastard more than any real protection. His eyes are closed as if he’s sleeping, but the way he keeps running his tongue kind of creepily over his teeth makes that obviously impossible. Seth wonders briefly if he’s hungry, then decides he doesn’t care.

Seth yawns then, long and loud, shattering the uneasy silence. This kind of constant, unrelenting motion is hard to bear in a human body; he can’t remember the last time he managed to get more than three hours of uninterrupted sleep. But still he wants to drive, the hum of the engine in his ears a well-hewn comfort he needs right now. Richie turns his head, raises one eyebrow. Translation: _Really? Let me drive, dumbass._ Seth narrows his eyes at him ( _I_ _n your dreams, fucker_ ) before looking away and listening for the exasperated huff that will inevitably sound now. When it comes, along with the rustle of clothing as Richie relaxes in his seat, he smiles a little in spite of himself. _The more things change, the more they stay the same, boys_ ,Uncle Eddie used to say sometimes. The old man had been a melancholy drunk.

His gaze flicks over to the sideview mirror, a zigzagging trifecta of headlights greeting it. Kisa’s on her motorcycle directly behind them, Scott bringing up the rear of their motley little crew with his oversized truck. In the dusty glow of the truck’s lights, she cuts an otherworldly figure. The phantom rider, he thinks, then promptly feels ashamed that something that cheesy cracks him up a bit. Although he’s not entirely sure why she even needs that sleek helmet--it’s not like a culebra’s gonna die of a head injury, right? It does add to the enigma, he supposes, though not necessarily to him.

The white bandage on his arm (courtesy of the ancient first aid kit in the glove compartment) glows near fluorescent in the darkness. He doesn’t look down at it, but it’s always there at the edge of his vision. A reminder. There’ll probably be a scar once it heals, another to add to the litany of them covering his skin, but this one different from the rest. This one a choice he made himself.

He’s not sure why he did it. Offered up his blood to her as if feeding culebras is a hobby of his, just something he likes to do in his downtime. As if the man he was a year ago would ever do such a thing. A wartime decision, yes, but there was more than simple camaraderie to it.

It might have been her admission that she had been...thinking about him. About him getting his ass kicked at that fight club of hers. The stark vulnerability on her face as she said it, as if it was a different sort of confession. He recalls that split-second of blank confusion, creeping almost-excitement that made him freeze, breathless, before she clarified. Then the understanding that arrived with her honesty. It’s like every time she gives an inch, opens up a bit of her mind’s inner workings to him, he feels compelled to give her something too. Return the favor, somehow. And anyway, he's never been the kind to inspire anyone. It was jarring, to hear of his behavior as some kind of model for her. Made him want to deserve the belief she'd, for some crazy reason, placed in him of all people.

Or maybe it was just the sight--the sounds of her in that moment. The way her laugh was cut off by a grunt of pain, the way she bit the inside of her lip to hold back a gasp, head resting heavily on the wall. It was noble in a way he couldn't comprehend and yet he’s come to hate it, hate the way she tries to hold herself together when she’s hurt, as if that mask of stoicism is something she was forced to learn. Which, when he thinks about it, she almost definitely was. Even how she screams when in pain--like the weakness was wrenched out of her against her will, like she’d do anything to swallow it back. He could gladly go the rest of his life without hearing that sound again. Somewhere along the line, somehow without any conscious effort on his part, her discomfort has started to cause his own.

Rationally, he should feel disgusted at the memory of her fangs sinking into him, the pressure of her digging under his skin. He should think about the pain, the glaring wrongness of it all, and nothing else. Instead, his brain conjures up the warm pressure of her mouth, the gentle grip of her hand curved around his forearm. The way she nodded after drawing back from him, murmured a quiet thank you to his back as he turned to keep walking. _Brother’s ex_ , he thinks, then wonders at how ridiculous his life has become that _that_ ’ _s_ currently the only objection he can think of to this specific mess.  

“Take the right turn coming up,” Carlos says, breaking Seth out of the slight reverie he’s fallen into. Seth nods jerkily, and eases up on the accelerator a bit. A few beats of silence as he makes the turn, looking at the sideview mirror until the light-streaked figure returns to it. When he lifts his head to stare ahead again, Carlos meets his gaze in the rearview. There’s something strange about the way those eyes drill into him. A knowingness that Seth doesn’t really want to confront. It’s unnerving, a word that should probably be trademarked to be used exclusively for Carlito. Seth breaks first, glancing down at the speedometer instead.

In front of them, a ramshackle old country bar slowly comes into view, all rotting wood and a roof that seems about ready to fall off. Still, yellow light glows from every orifice, signs of life in the sorry establishment. A group of gray-bearded bikers sit outside, smoking thick cigars and watching their approach.

“This is the place?” Richie asks, his voice filled with a derision that Seth heartily seconds.

“Yes,” Carlos answers, descriptive as ever. Sighing heavily, Seth puts the car in park.

 

\--

 

It’s a full half hour before they can leave that godforsaken hole to return to the relative comfort of their vehicles, plus a few unruly additions.  Thirty minutes spent in a musty drinking shack, thirty minutes comprising of mind-numbing platitudes and the occasional threat and Carlos’ weird girlfriend throwing death glares at Kisa the whole time.

At last, they file out of the door, Scott and Richie exchanging a skeptical glance as the scrawny culebra in front of them scratches at his chin with a toothpick. Seth’s shoulders brush against Kisa’s as they walk towards the road.

“You ready for this?” He says in a low voice, trying not to betray his own rising apprehension at the thought of what they’re going after.

She turns her head slightly, and Seth can sense her eyes searching his expression, though he keeps his own firmly ahead of him.

“Ready as we’ll ever be,” she replies, and moves away to climb onto her motorcycle.

Seth purses his lips and nods, trying to tune out the protests of Carlos’ girlfriend as Richie tells her that she can’t take Carlos in her jeep. The frustration grows in both of their tones until Carlos snaps and puts an end to it by sitting in the damn car himself and closing the door after him. Christ.

“Hey,” Seth calls out suddenly, swiveling to face Kisa as she zips up her jacket. “What’s the helmet for, anyway?”

She shrugs. “Not a fan of traffic stops,” she says coolly, bending down and adjusting her boots. “And anyway,” she continues, “I think it completes the look.” She meets his eyes and smirks slightly, before sliding the helmet over her head. “Don’t you?”  
  
Unsuccessfully trying to hide his grin at that, Seth opens the car door and settles into the front passenger seat. He shakes off Richie's look of surprise and leans gratefully against the suede and leather. It's the end of times, after all. One nap can't hurt.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr at savitris.tumblr.com :)


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